


No Grave

by orphan_account



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Sunless Sea AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-01
Updated: 2015-05-01
Packaged: 2018-03-26 17:26:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3858823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Neath is a strange, terrifying place, and its inhabitants are even stranger and more terrifying. Captain Loki of the ship-for-hire World Eater is more than familiar with the twists, turns, and tentacles of the cavernous realm beneath the surface. He has faced his share of monsters, beasts, and unfathomable mysteries across the black stretches of the Unterzee, but there is nothing quite like the bright-eyed Engineer that comes calling for him at a dying port city.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Grave

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a very special work for me because today I'm getting graded on my fanfiction for what is certainly the first and probably the last time in my academic career. Yes, my poor professor has to read Marvel slash fic of my OTP. Hi Rory, hope you enjoy. (PS - J in the comments says I deserve an A ++. I'm inclined to agree).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own any of Sunless Sea or the accompanying universe of Fallen London - those belong to Failbetter Games. Nor do I own any of Marvel's characters or associated content (you can bet if I did there would already be a Black Widow movie, just saying). The title comes from Hozier's "Work Song"- yep, I'm using that too.
> 
> All the content borrowed from these sources is used in Fair Use for the sake of literally shipping two gorgeous assholes together.

Black water laps at the decaying wooden posts of the docks, but it is the only movement in the port of Venderbright. The sepia air tastes like temporary death, an acrid and chalky taint that settles into the very Zee and stone of this island chain. So fitting, then, that the nearly dead and perpetually dying make their pilgrimages to this place when somewhat immortal life becomes too much. The Tomb-Colonies, they are aptly named, and while they might not make the best respite for a lively zailor, any dock is a relief from the Unterzee.

 

Loki finds the city charming in its own way. It feels so empty even at midday – or what can be called midday in the cavernous, underground realm of the Neath – with only the shuffling of bandaged tomb-colonists, and there is a lovely restaurant hidden amongst the haphazard stacks of mausoleum apartments. The Poisoner who cooks their food makes delicious stew from the Lifebergs of the northwestern waters.

 

Little delights aren’t enough to charm him away this evening, though. Instead, he reclines across the deck of his small, speedy little ship and watches the flaring of phosphorescent lights that could almost be mistaken for stars. The deck rocks slowly beneath him with the ebb and flow of the Zee’s grasping tide. His crew and officers have all gone to spend their free night in the city, perhaps finding some company amongst the least decayed of the tomb-colonists. The only question is which ones will make it back in the morning.

 

Barton certainly will; the Gunnery Sergeant is predictable in that at least. He’ll return as the torches around the Neath brighten to signal day and take up his customary position at the head of the ship to harass the crew for their misadventures through the night. Rogers, the unofficial chef, would be back next, pulling a cart of supplies that they would need. Thor would be tagging along with him, maybe even pulling the cart like the thick-skulled pack animal he is.

 

Banner’s return is questionable. He had signed on as surgeon only for the sake of traveling and made it abundantly clear that it would be a temporary venture. But that was months ago – or maybe years? – and the doctor has not left their company yet. With eerie certainty, the foreign feeling that sometimes curls in his gut and presses against his thoughts, Loki knows Banner will not be leaving them for Venderbright.

 

Scuffling feet in leather boots squeak against the dock, and a voice startles Loki. “Oh my Captain, where are you hiding?” The voice is unfamiliar and cocksure. Loki grits his teeth but stands, back straight, chin up and glaring. He smooths the creases from his emerald wool coat and black leather pants, pushing wisps of flyaway hair back from his face and behind his ear as he steps up to the railing.

 

“Can I help you?” he bites out. The figure appears to be a human man at best guess – so tricky to tell species nowadays, and gender is meaningless anyway. He has short dark hair in a mild state of disarray on his head; it stands out starkly against the neatly trimmed beard that curls around the edges of his jaw and pulls upwards with his smirk. Deep amber eyes dance with the light of an inside joke – not the bright gold like a devil has but a richer color, born of the earth instead of hellfire. He is dressed in patched trousers and his wrinkled, sleeveless shirt hangs open in the front; bandages are wrapped tightly around his chest from neck to belt.

 

“I need passage off these islands”, the man comments, stepping up to the edge of the dock with a grin that he probably thinks is charming.

 

“Find someone else’s ship”. Loki is being snippy, yes, he is well aware, but the man is obviously a vagabond tomb-colonist, most likely wanting to see someplace pretty before his eyes rot and fall out of his skull. Tomb-colonists are terrible cargo anyway, prone to fits of insanity that lead to ships sinking or someone drowning in the open Zee – a hassle, really.

 

The man is undeterred. His smile doesn’t even twitch. “There are no other passenger ships in the harbor, just yours”.

 

“That would appear to be quite a problem for you”.

 

“How about I join your crew, then? I’m a damn good engineer”, the man returns blithely, and the desire to strangle the cheeky bastard makes Loki clench his jaw tightly.

 

“We have an engineer”, Loki growls in response.

 

The man seems to choke for a moment, and then he laughs so hard he nearly falls off the dock. One hand rests at the center of his chest as he bends forward and howls with glee. It takes him a long minute to settle down enough to breathe again, and he gasps, “I didn’t think anyone would ever be stupid enough to call Justin Hammer an engineer! How many times did he blow your engines?”

 

Loki hisses, turning his head to grimace at the fog banks that obscure the black horizon of the Zee. The man isn’t wrong; Justin Hammer is only an engineer in his own head, and there had been one engine fire before Loki locked him in his quarters for the trip to Venderbright with the hopes of ditching him in the port. But he’s not trading out one mouthy waste of space for another, no matter if it leaves him without an engineer as he heads across the Unterzee.

 

“All I need is to get to Giannotti Harbour”, the man interrupts Loki’s angry musings.

 

Loki snorts. “You are most certainly on your own if you want to go to The Surface”.

 

“Just drop me off at the port”, the man says with a shrug. “I can make my own way up the Canal from there”.

 

“The Cumaean Canal is to the south. We already have business to the east”. Loki isn’t going to give in so easily to a pushy ‘passenger’, but then he catches sight of his First Mate slinking up through the hazy air and shadows behind the man. Natasha very deliberately catches his eye and sidles up next to the man.

 

“I see you found us a new Engineer, Captain”, she remarks casually. The man grins brightly up at Loki, sensing victory. He is right to – the one time Loki disregarded his First Mate’s advice, they had ended up with Hammer, after all. Loki sighs, waving at them dismissively and turning away. He hears Natasha behind him, “Welcome aboard, Zailor”.

 

When the man starts to make a rather salacious comment in return, Loki snaps at them both. “Don’t dawdle, then! We have a ship to prepare for tomorrow morning”.

 

The two officers scramble up onto the deck, though Natasha does it with much more grace than the man does. The man’s smile is so obnoxious as he stands on the deck of the _World Eater_ that Loki swears under his breath. “Salt, Storm, and Stone take me”. He really hopes at least one of them will show him some pity, if they exist, but it probably takes more than that to stir a god of the Zee.

 

“Is Hammer gone for good?” Loki turns his attention to Natasha, and she nods.

 

“He’s rather taken with the company of a young Duchess and plans to spend the week in her bed”. The man laughs again, and Natasha smirks – something they both know about this Duchess, perhaps.

 

“You are truly evil if you led him into the claws of Miss Everheart, Red”, the man says. Natasha’s smirk gets bigger and nastier. The man nods approvingly. “He’ll be pissing pins and needles when she’s done with him”.

 

“He shouldn’t have tried to spy on my bath”. Natasha turns her back to both the men on the deck and heads below. That leaves Loki with their wretched new Engineer and his annoying smile. Closer, and with the glow of the ship’s lights, the thin ridges of scar tissue running in short bursts along his arms become visible. His skin is darkened like someone who works with the fires, and toned from strenuous work as well – very much like an engineer should be, even in the sunless Neath.

 

“Where to, my illustrious Captain?” The man is nearly giddy, shirt tails flapping with his swaggering gait as he wanders up to Loki’s side.

 

“We have a commission to deliver Sphinxstone to a man at Adam’s Way. We will need to pick the stone up at the Salt Lions and then head south-east from there”, Loki explains. Much to his relief, the man’s bright smile fades away to a more sedate, thoughtful look. He scratches at his beard and then claps his hands together.

 

“Sounds like a good, long trip and a very nasty one without an Engineer to keep the engines running”, the man teases, “It’s a blessing that I found you”. And then he has the deplorable audacity to wink at Loki like he has a right to do so! The Captain has to bite back his own outrage, though it surely shows in the angry flush on his cheeks.

 

If the other man notices, he doesn’t draw attention to the fact, instead making a comment about checking the engines and turning away. He follows after Natasha through the door to below deck, humming a ditty softly to himself and leaving his new Captain glaring.

 

Loki doesn’t know his name.

 

* * *

 

 Most of the crew returns as soon as the fires burn at their full height, just like Loki thought. Barton is laughing boisterously from his perch on the railing of the cabin roof as Thor and Rogers heave their haul of supplies up onto the deck. Banner has brought back some interesting specimens to examine and play with in his small lab space, carefully packing the glass jars into a crate with dried grasses. Loki chases Barton down to help stow the cargo, and for a moment, he can even forget the new addition to their ship. But then the man pops his head up from the cargo hatch as they as they are finishing, and the crewmen and officers stop to stare.

 

"Fresh meat?" Barton calls, curious and amused. The man snorts, dragging himself up onto the deck.

 

“Mr. Hammer has taken his leave of us”, Loki answers evenly. “This is his replacement”. He doesn’t stop his work, ensuring the fuel canisters are safely tucked into their boxes and swatting at Thor to pick up the crate.

 

“Thank the Zee Gods”, Barton huffs, but he steps up and offers his hand to the Engineer with a crooked smile. “Name’s Clint – or Barton if you’re as formal as the Captain”.

 

“Tony Stark”, the man – Tony, apparently – says back. He takes Barton’s hand in both of his own and leans forward like he’s sharing a secret, but still speaking loudly enough for all to hear. “No one’s quite as formal as your Captain, though, I do believe”.

 

And Barton laughs long and loud, clapping a hand on Tony’s exposed shoulder before turning to Loki. “I like this one, Captain”.

 

Loki can’t help but frown at the two, but no one is paying much mind. All the crew and officers flock around the Engineer, introducing themselves and vying for the new man’s attention, so Loki steps away, shouldering open the door to the bridge. Natasha has a faded, threadbare map spread in front of her on the console, feet propped up dangerously close to the steering column as she leans back in one of the two seats.

 

“Anything changed?” Loki questions, taking the other chair and shoving at Natasha’s legs until she moves them from the console with a petulant sigh.

 

“Nothing that should cause us any problems”, she says, gesturing to a few scribbles on the map. Some of the outermost landmasses have arrows drawn to indicate new positions in the Unterzee. “Lucky for us, the Salt Lions and Adam’s Way are pretty stable locations, and none of the islands have moved to be in our way”. Natasha pauses, though, then points to one island that’s been crossed out. “It looks like the Empire of Hands has gone missing though”.

 

“Tremendous”, Loki drawls, rubbing at his eyes in exhaustion. “How does a whole chain of islands filled with sentient, soulless apes go missing?” Natasha shrugs, and her Captain tosses his head back with a loud groan, arm draped dramatically across his face. With Loki’s eyes covered, Natasha puts her feet back up on the console.

 

Thor bellows incoherently outside the bridge, and a heavy thud shakes the ship. It’s followed by Tony’s horrendous laugh again; a scowl slithers across Loki’s face. Natasha smirks, reaching over to poke the Captain in his side repeatedly. One eye glares blearily at her from under the folds of his crisp, black sailing jacket. “He’s not so bad, as you would know if you weren’t such a bastard”, she teases.

 

Loki grunts, covering his eyes again. “I just have no patience for someone who is all bluster and no results”, he defends. There’s nothing unreasonable about wanting a competent and quiet Engineer. If only he could replace the entire crew with figures as terrifyingly perfect as he himself is.

 

The corner of Natasha’s mouth curls up in genuine, mischievous delight. “He’s already cleared up Hammer’s mess and got the third engine running again”. Loki doesn’t bother to acknowledge that, so she continues. “He’s also fixed up the rear cannon”.

 

Loki is shocked into silence, and he sits slowly up, eyes wide and mouth slightly gaping. A zee-bat screeches in the distance before the Captain can get his voice working again. “What?” he finally manages eloquently. Natasha looks absolutely proud of the reaction she’s garnered.

 

Trying again, Loki manages to be a bit more coherent. “That guns been broken for years”, he hisses breathily. “We’ve only been lugging it around in case we need the scrap metal for repairs”.

 

Natasha manages to school her face into something of a smile that is less triumphant and more respectful. “We’ll have to see how it fires once we’re out at Zee”, she concedes, “But I’m sure it works better than it did when newly manufactured”. Loki shuts his mouth, turning to stare at the slowly shuffling masses on the docks in front of their windshield. He doesn’t notice Natasha’s silent laughter.

 

“Clint will certainly be delighted”, she concludes, settling deeper into the cushy leather of the Captain’s seat.

 

Loki only shakes his head before standing. He steps to the door after a long moment of hesitation, but visibly collects himself, shoulders snapping back and stance opening wider, and then throws the door open. “Last call!” he cries out, “We set sail on the hour!” A chorus of agreement rings out across the deck, and everyone jumps to their places.

 

* * *

  

Out in the depths of the Unterzee, everything is a churning black mass of salt water, stone, and merciless terror. There’s no real light in the Neath; the phosphorescent glows that periodically appear above in a constantly shifting state of constellations do nothing to light the waters of the Zee. Theories abound as to whether the lights either fungus, jewels, or a strange manner of bug – most hope for the former two – but it means little to a zailor when they can’t see beneath the glossy black surface of the water or further out than the meager lanterns on the ship’s prow can reach.

The only way to know the time is by the expensive gold pocket watch Loki carries for that very reason. As he stands on quiet deck, fully immersed in the darkness now that they are a few days out from Venderbright, he checks the watch. For a moment, the hands seem to twist backwards and around the clock-face, but they settle after he blinks twice. It’s nearly noon on the fourth day already.

 

The Zee air tastes like faded tears. It’s clearer out away from the Tomb Colonies, but the blackness feels dense and oppressive, pushing the air in against the tiny bubble of greenish light cast by the ship’s lamps. The Zee howls in the distance, mournful cries echoing out over the ocean like a great beast being eaten slowly alive. All the crew is in the bridge or cabins, hiding away from the eerie terrors of the Unterzee and trying to ward off the inevitable nightmares for just a night or two longer.

 

There is no terror out here for Loki, though. He is a favorite of Salt, a spoiled child of the Zee, and so no mysteries would dare to frighten him. The blessing of Salt keeps him safe out on the Zee. He takes up most of the watch himself. It’s an unnecessary burden to place upon the crew when Loki actually takes a small measure of enjoyment in being alone under the twinkling roof of the Neath.

 

At least, he thought he was alone, but a figure sits tucked against the rails near the stern of the ship, feet dangling dangerously over the edge and just above the water’s surface.

 

“Please do not disturb the Zee”, Loki warns quietly. His voice carries easily in the stillness to the hunched over Engineer who peers calmly back at him. “You are liable to attract unwanted attention, and I have no wish to fight off a Zee-beast today”.

 

Tony’s lips curl up in a smile. He looks ghostly and sick under the dim lights, like the vitality and health has been drained from him. Loki considers sending him inside, not wanting any terrors of the Unterzee to trigger madness in the man, but Tony stands and approaches him. He looks better – stronger and healthier – when he’s up and moving.

 

“I have been out on the Zee before”, replies the man easily. “I actually missed it”.

 

“You poor thing”, Loki deadpans. He doesn’t expect Tony to laugh – maybe he should have, the man is nearly always cheerful and amused – but he does, the sound ringing out clearly like the gonging bell of from the House of Chimes that marks the new day in Fallen London. It drowns out the screaming of the Zee. Loki doesn’t miss it.

 

“Oh my striking Captain, you wound me”, jokes Tony, hand again pressed to his chest in mocking offense. “I’m but a lonely soul who is yearning for the Zee life again. Don’t make so little of my despair or I might just weep”.

 

Loki scoffs sharply, mouth ticking up with the urge to smile. He tamps down on it but is certain that somehow Tony knows anyway. “Allow me to ease your suffering, then, and hold your head under the water until your lungs fill with your precious Zee”.

 

“I’ve tried that before. It didn’t take”, Tony huffs, the merriment making his eyes glimmer.

 

“You must not have tried hard enough”.

 

“I do believe the Zee just wanted to be friends”. And Loki can’t help himself anymore, the grin he has been suppressing breaks free and he laughs hard. There’s no cruelty in his guffawing, no bitter edge or sarcasm, just true and wonderful delight. He has to clutch the railing beside him for fear of falling over as the laughter is ripped up out of his chest with violent tremors. Tears build at the corners of his eyes, escaping down the curves of his cheeks, but it takes some time before Loki has the presence of mind to brush them away.

 

He finally straightens, unable to push back the vibrant grin on his face, and notices that Tony has moved closer. The Engineer is at his elbow, so close to touching him and one hand extended towards his arm as if intending to do so. His body radiates heat almost uncomfortably, leaving one side of Loki’s body sweltering while the other is chilled by the Zee winds. Loki can’t think of anything to say. It seems that a faint blue light shines out from the bandages at the center of Tony’s chest.

 

Tony leans closer, the strange blue glow shifting at the edges of Loki’s sight.

 

Barton’s voice shoots carelessly out from the bridge and through the sudden, crackling tension. “The Salt Lions, Captain!” Tony has moved to the other side of the deck before Loki can even think to say something, but Loki’s attention is captured by the towering monoliths on either side of the ship, and whatever question he might have asked is forgotten.

 

Two cathedral-sized beasts of smooth black rock stare across the dark waters at each other, faces frozen in impassive condemnation. One is alight with lanterns and fire; red lights flicker along the underside of its jaw. The faint sounds of breaking rock and clacking metal whisper over the water’s surface, and the tiny shadows of working figures and cranes can be seen along the head of the slowly crumbling beast. Between its legs is a small dock and a supply station in a squat wooden hut. Mounds of broken Sphinxstone lie behind the building.

 

Loki takes a deep breath, tasting sweet murky salt, and then goes to chase the crew out of hiding. They have a shipment of Sphinxstone to load.

 

* * *

 

 

After the load of Sphinxstone is paid for and Natasha’s backdoor dealings are done, it still takes nearly the rest of the day to get the shipment aboard and settled soundly into the hold. Loki decided to rest in the port for the night, and set out in the morning. The _World Eater_ feels heavily and sluggish as it pulls from the dock under Loki’s hands, drudging along through the water like it’s the thick muck of Fallen London’s sewers.

 

Tony had disappeared into the engine room, muttering about making sure the ship could handle pushing such a heavy load, but he reappears quickly enough at Loki’s side on the bridge. Natasha and Clint are sitting on the floor off to the side, quietly playing a games of bets and secrets that Loki doesn’t quite understand no matter how often they explain the rules. Loki himself is in the Captain’s chair, feet respectfully and carefully on the floor. Tony takes the other seat.

 

For a long while, there’s no sounds beyond the soft mutterings of the pair in the back and the steady hum of the engines. Tony’s eyes are closed, head tilted back, and Loki is beginning to suspect he has fallen asleep. It would make sense that would be the only way to shut him up, and it’s probably much needed for the Engineer after staying up all night like Natasha had mentioned. She was right, the rear cannon does fire better than it ever has, and Clint had been very happy about that.

 

Something like begrudging respect for the Engineer has bloomed in Loki's chest despite his vigorous attempts to cull the weed, even enough to let the man sleep on the bridge instead of chasing him away to sleep in his own quarters. But an hour – or maybe several hours – later, Tony speaks up, and Loki wonders if he was really sleeping in the first place.

 

“Have you ever visited Adam’s Way?” Tony questions softly. Loki chuckles to himself, eyes never leaving the expanse of Zee before the boat. Natasha and Clint don’t stop their game of whispers.

 

“Yes”, the Captain answers. He’s visited every corner of the Unterzee, is often chartered for that very knowledge, and his name and ship are famous in the right circles. But there’s no reason a wandering tomb-colonist would know that of course, so Loki does try to be as polite as he is capable of.

 

“So you know what lies beyond its gates, then”. It’s not a question, but Loki responds anyway, chuckling derisively.

 

“Everyone in the Neath knows it’s the only passage to the Elder Continent and the seventy-two utopian kingdoms of the Presbyterate”.

 

“Ever wanted to see if the legends about the Presbyterate are true?”

 

Loki shakes his head, smirking. “I don’t believe in paradise, and even if I did, no foreigners are allowed to pass beyond Adam’s Way”.

 

“Mmm”, Tony hums indistinctly. He sits up slowly, the lines at the corners of his eyes deepening, and he glances at Loki. “I’ve been there”, he finally says. “I never want to go back”.

 

Now Loki has to laugh, peering at Tony from the corners of his eyes. “Perhaps that was a honey-dream”, he says. “No foreigners allowed, remember?”

 

“That’s not always true”, Tony shoots back. His eyes are harsh and piercing. The foreign certainty in Loki’s mind slips sideways and tries to flee under that look, but Loki frowns and brings it to heel, his own hackles rising. He wants to say something or argue, feels even compelled forcibly to do so, but then the ship shudders harshly.

 

Metal screeches as it’s scraped against a hard surface. Clint and Tony are already running, one to the guns and the other to his station in the engine room. Natasha sits in the chair at Loki’s side, and they both watch in determined silence as the dangling lights of an angler crab breach the water’s surface in front of them. Gunfire sounds immediately, the water exploding under a hail of bullets and fire.

 

The crab screams loudly, swinging around to charge again from the side. Loki tries to turn with it, to keep the beast in sight of the guns, but the ship is too slow to respond. It feels dead in the brackish, churning water. They can’t fight off the crab if they can’t even aim at it.

 

“We are leaving!” Loki cries into the microphone by his station. If the call echoes outside, he can’t hear it over the gunfire, but the engines are suddenly flaring with power, so at least Tony heard. They lurch forward in the water. The gauge off to the side spikes in temperature, and Loki distantly hopes the engines don’t blow or catch fire, but that’s the Engineer’s problem, not his at the moment.

 

Instead, Loki concentrates on pushing their boat forward despite the impediment of its weight. Angler crabs are fast, but not the fastest thing in the Zee by a long shot, and the _World Eater_ was designed to be faster than that. Even under a full load as they have, it is still a speedy ship, and pushing the engines like Tony is should be enough to get them away from the Angler crab. Hopefully far enough that it will lose interest.

 

The crab’s next charge misses the ship by only a narrow margin, but that’s better than nothing. By the time it turns around, the _World Eater_ is even farther out. Loki grins, heart finally starting to settle, but then Natasha swears in a language Loki can’t identify. That’s never good.

 

She’s standing at the door leading out of the bridge, holding it wide open. Loki can see over her shoulder, and he swears as well, yelling into the microphone. “Cut the engines, Stark!” Their speed doesn’t decrease. “Stark, the engines!”

 

Nothing happens again, and Loki curses the vagrant Engineer. Natasha slams the door shut, but Loki doesn’t need to see outside to know the storm that is approaching will send their ship rolling in the water. It’s one of the Neath’s hurricane-like monstrosities – cutting, vicious winds that rush out from a source unknown. They move so fast that the water of the Zee is pushed up in a rushing wall before the massive storm, falling back to the ocean after the winds pass in a horrid mockery of the rainfall that graces the Surface.

 

If they could face into the storm, they might be able to ride out the immense waves, but it’s at their side. They are going too fast to turn; even if Tony had stopped the engines entirely, it would have been too late. But as ship is lifted up towards into the storm, water and wind roaring in a deafening wail of Storm’s wrath, Loki still can’t help but curse the Engineer in his head.

 

Everything goes black like the bottomless depths of the Zee, and silence pulses in the uneven rhythm of a fading heartbeat.

 

* * *

 

 

There’s something rough under his cheek, lumpy and unforgiving. Loki groans softly, trying to roll over and get more comfortable. The movement makes his head scream, but when he tries to mirror the sound himself, he chokes on the water in his lungs. Someone pounds harshly on his back until the water comes up and out, bringing stomach bile with it.

 

“Good to see that the Zee didn’t want to keep you either, Captain”, a gruff voice says. It sounds relieved, but Loki’s still trying to place it. He’s rolled over onto his back, head carefully cradled, but it doesn’t stop the pain.

 

“The pain will go after a while”, the voice drones on, maybe trying to be soothing. “Drowning isn’t a pleasant way to go, after all, and your body is more than happy to remind you of that fact”. Loki tries blinking, but it’s too exhausting. “That’s why the Drownies have so much trouble believing that they managed to get through it alive – it all feels too real even afterwards”.

 

“Sta-“. Loki manages to start forming the name, but gives up halfway through. The Engineer gets the message though, the smile plainly evident in his voice.

 

“Yep, that’s me, my most gorgeous of Captains”. Tony laughs to himself. “I’m glad you aren’t dead. We were just getting to know each other”.

 

This time Loki actually gets the energy to rasp out a few words. “Shut up, Stark”.

 

For a moment, there’s silence, but then Tony laughs so hard he’s shaking. Loki can tell because it’s at this same moment he realizes his head is laying in Tony’s lap, and the sound vibrates up through his head and into his chest. “I bet you’ve been waiting to say that to me all week, my sweet Captain”, the Engineer taunts.

 

Loki opens his eyes, squinting against even the faint light illuminating Tony’s face from below. “I have”, he admits. It feels so ignoble to be lying across the man’s lap like this, but even the thought of trying to sit up is too much. He decides to interrogate Tony from his horizontal position instead. “What have I missed?”

 

“Well, we found the Empire of Hands”, Tony says, smiling kindly down.

 

Loki swears.

 

“Yeah, I know”, Tony agrees. “But the good news is that we’ve found most of the crew so far. The only ones missing yet are a few deckhands”.

 

“Mmm”, Loki supplies. It’s a small comfort that at least Natasha is out there. She can handle any problems they might have with the far too intelligent apes that inhabit these islands. “The ship?” Hopefully it hasn’t sunk beneath the waves or they might never get off the island, especially not with the trade embargo that normally isolates the Empire of Hands.

 

“It’s out there still floating”. Tony’s voice is rather soothing when he’s doing what Loki wants instead of being annoying and bouncing about like a cheerful, cheeky Blemmigan. If prisoner’s honey had a sound, it would probably be Tony’s voice speaking softly and saying nice things.

 

It occurs to Loki he might have hit his head sometime during the storm and subsequent drowning.

 

Tony hasn’t noticed at least, chattering on about Natasha getting the boat and everyone else out trying to scavenge what they can. “I think we’ll have to ditch the Sphinxstone”, he says. “The ship was in pretty bad shape, and there’s no reason to stress her any more than absolutely necessary”.

 

“Have the apes tried anything yet?” The beasts are notorious for being soul hungry, lacking spiritual essence of their own and unable to trade for certified, legal souls because of the embargo. Loki’s pretty sure he still has his, or maybe he never had one in the first place because it doesn’t feel like anything important is missing.

 

“No, Thor and Steve are keeping them too scared to really try anything”.

 

“Good”, Loki comments, lapsing into silence as he tries to put his brain back together through the pain. It’s like someone lit a charge of dynamite behind his eyes then filled his head with hornets before stitching the whole thing back together with a rusty needle and some barbed wire. All without even mushroom wine to ease the sting.

 

Tony is looking out across the Zee. Loki can hear the waves now, and past Tony’s head, he can make out the edges of a tree line. From beneath, Tony seems so very old. There’s a scar along the underside of his jaw and around his throat. It curves down, nearly white in the blue light that’s illuminating them and ends at the man’s collarbone.

 

Loki blinks. He can see Tony’s neck and collarbone. The bandages are gone.

 

The thoughts trickle in slowly, slotting together in Loki’s head finally, and he scrambles to sit up despite the lancing pain in his skull. Tony lets him, suddenly stiff under Loki’s stare. The blue light is coming from a whirring, pulsing device in his chest, sitting squarely amongst a mass of scar tissue that is twisted and knotted on itself. The cover normally wrapped around the old injuries must have been drenched and washed away.

 

Loki raises his hand, drags trembling fingertips across the glass front of the strange device, but Tony jerks sharply away. The man is panting harshly, and Loki can see the pulse hammering in the strained veins of his neck. With visible effort, Tony tries to smile and settle down. “Please don’t touch that”.

 

Nodding, Loki swallows. He lowers his hand and clasps it in his own lap, like the limb had tried to move on its own. “What…” Loki begins, but he’s not sure what he’s asking, really, or where to start.

 

Tony takes the lead, smiling so bitterly it hurts Loki just to see. “I’m sure you know the Great Game”, he says. “All the major cities of the Surface and the Neath play it, and the Masters of the Bazaar are the undisputed champions”.

 

Loki inclines his head in understanding, but he doesn’t interrupt. It feels like his heart isn’t beating properly as he listens.

 

“My family has always served Mr. Iron well”. The name of the infamous Master burns against Loki’s ears as if it could hear them talking about itself even now. “Even before London was stolen from the Surface by the Masters, my family has been in its service. Some immeasurable amount of time ago, I became the head and sole remaining member of the Stark lineage, and so that responsibility fell to me. I became Iron’s Man”.

 

At that, Loki’s chest clenches. He’s heard the stories – everyone has heard the stories of the metal man that was the violent law bringer of Mr. Iron. He wasn’t like the other spies and secret-hoarders of the Great Game, always working in the shadows. No, this agent worked in the bright firelight of day, enacting violence that made the serial killers of Fallen London jealous. Iron’s Man could ensure that someone who had died would stay dead if only by blowing their body to smithereens.

 

Tony’s mouth quirks knowingly. “Another agent finally got to me, left me with this as a parting gift”. He taps along the edge of the blue light, then rubs at it when Loki gaze falls to the device again. The Captain doesn’t ask what it is or does, though, just looks back up at Tony’s eyes and waits. “I decided to leave the business, then. Hopped on the first ship to Venderbright and tried to settle down”.

 

“Mr. Iron didn’t try to follow you?” Loki questions. After all, the Great Game can never truly be left behind. That’s why he’s always refused to get involved from the very beginning.

 

“Nah”, Tony dismisses. “He knows I’ll keep his secrets at the very least, and that’s what matters most of all”.

 

“So why the sudden desire for the Surface?” The frown on Loki’s face feels particularly unpleasant, like he doesn’t want to think about Tony leaving. He doesn’t, actually, how odd.

 

Tony shrugs. “I kind of would like to see it, I suppose, but mostly I wanted to talk with the pretty Zee Captain that came to port every so often”. Loki blinks, tries to process that, and then blinks when it fails to make sense.

 

“What?” he interjects, startled. Tony laughs, grabbing his hands and tugging Loki forward until he’s nearly sitting in the man’s lap.

 

“I’m practically in love with you, my dearest Captain”, the sappy, amber-eyed man admits softly. His lips look soft despite being cracked from the salt water and Zee air. Loki licks his own, not sure what to say. He doesn’t have to, though, because Tony kisses him.

 

His lips are soft, and hot as well, molten rock boiling under smooth satin. His mouth tastes like the Zee and tangy iron, and he keeps Loki pressed up tightly against him with a desperate strength that makes the Captain groan. He kisses back, hands wrapping in the untidy mess of Tony’s hair. They pull apart for air, Loki’s head rushing in a dizzy spiral, thoughts spinning and chasing each other around his brain.

 

“Please let me stay, let me travel with you”, Tony asks.

 

Loki laughs softly, whispering his answer against Tony’s lips. “Well, we do still need an Engineer”.

**Author's Note:**

> If you find the Unterzee and the Neath to be absolutely fascinating, go check out the games. Fallen London is a free, in-browser game if you want to test things out first. Sunless Sea itself is a rogue-like, adventure game with fantastic music. I highly recommend both for the full Neath experience.


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